Joseph O. Legaspi

Joseph O. Legaspi is the author of Imago (CavanKerry Press) and two chapbooks: Aviary, Bestiary (Organic Weapon Arts), winner of the David Blair Memorial Prize, and Subways (Thrush Press). Recent works appeared in Poets.org, jubilat, The Journal, Painted Bride Quarterly, BLOOM, and the anthology Coming Close (Prairie Lights/University of Iowa Press). He co-founded Kundiman (www.kundiman.org), a non-profit organization serving Asian American literature. He is a 2015 Fulbright fellowship recipient to the Philippines.

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Joseph O. Legaspi

Joseph O. Legaspi is the author of Imago (CavanKerry Press) and two chapbooks: Aviary, Bestiary (Organic Weapon Arts), winner of the David Blair Memorial Prize, and Subways (Thrush Press). Recent works appeared in Poets.org, jubilat, The Journal, Painted Bride Quarterly, BLOOM, and the anthology Coming Close (Prairie Lights/University of Iowa Press). He co-founded Kundiman (www.kundiman.org), a non-profit organization serving Asian American literature. He is a 2015 Fulbright fellowship recipient to the Philippines.

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Joseph O. Legaspi

In a fever dream the morning sky morphs into black water.

*

In Manila an aunt races upstairs, downstairs to stock upon provisions, worrying about her tenants belowwho assured her they’re accustomed to a bitof flooding. Knee-high, chest-highduring monsoon seasons. In Bicola cousin rushes home to an emptybed, a flashlight, canned meats. In Davao Helene’s father tends to hisroosters in the mountains. In Quezon CityLaurel hunkers down in her expat apartment,failing to tape-up her windows, regretting nothing.

*

And in dream-fever I hear the howlingof Tacloban, its crumbling cement, splinteringwood. Then I’m lost in the dark of Samar, invisible Leyte.

Our Father who art nowhereHollowed be our popsicle-stick housesThy Kingdom come, we will be doneOn earth and disappearing heavenGive us this day our daily rationsAnd forgive the hurricane for its trespassesAs we forgive those politicians who trespass against usAnd lead us not into watery temptationBut deliver us to mercy. Amen.

*

Nagbabawas talaga nang mga tao, my mother said,He is getting rid of His people, according to our domesticdemographist on all occasions of immeasurable disasters.

She meant God, of course, the God who ripped openthe roof of His church to witness fear, helplessness,and devotion huddled inside.

*

In a dream, roofs from houses hoverbefore me like spaceships, alien invasion.

*

In grade school the typhoon was like the rampagingKraken, hungry for beauty.

*

Mother Mary full of spit.Mud shall inherit the earth.

*

They were scattered like beached porpoises,bloated, then rupturing and peeling. The stench beganto permeate days after, so eventually they were collected,strange harvest lined-up on roadsides encased in plastics.

Somewhere nearby a guitar is being strummed,an accompanying voice humming.

A basketball court is erected and young menare playing shirtless in the mid-November heat.

And the stories are told, they keep spinning:of those taken by the sea; the lost, reunited and remained;of grown children who managed to send rice to their famished parents.How the mayor of Tacloban punched a hole in his roof to escapethe rising water. Aren’t these the stuff of fables or parables?

Bahala Na: to be alive is to be a survivor.

Did you hear about the womanwho, staring down the storm, gavebirth and named her child Yolanda?